


all i know is i don't know (how to be something you miss)

by subtlyhaught



Series: i don't wanna miss you like this [1]
Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Pining, most of them are only just mentioned but, tags babey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 22:20:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20646596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subtlyhaught/pseuds/subtlyhaught
Summary: Evie had left six months ago.





	all i know is i don't know (how to be something you miss)

**Author's Note:**

> hihihi i was watching my best boy, dylan is in trouble, react to taylor swift's speak now album and it reminded me that last kiss existed?? anyway i listened to it, and this fic was birthed. and it is... sad. but! mads (@rottenkidnextdoor on ao3) has kind of convinced me to make it a series so stick around for that, that might be cool.
> 
> anyway if you wanna listen to some tunes to get in the mood for this, here are some 2000s taylor swift songs that suit it perfectly; last kiss, come back... be here, i almost do, all too well, white horse, back to december. have fun reading y'all!

Evie had left six months ago.

She still hadn’t called.

Not that she had said she would. She really hadn’t said much at all.

Still, Mal hoped. Against reason, maybe. 

She found that six months was a long time to be alone, to wait. Incomprehensibly long. It got easier, sure. The painful break of her heart was only ever a dull throb now. She had started pouring the right amount of coffee, found that she could sleep on the left side of the bed again. It got easier, even if the house still felt empty from time to time.

(Always.)

She hadn’t found it in her to go into the back room though, not yet. It had been Evie’s office; where she took calls and pinned patterns and sewed. It still had most of her stuff in it - the sewing machine, rolls of fabric, some half finished designs she had ended up scrapping. She couldn’t take them with her, she had said. They wouldn’t fit in the moving truck. She could always buy more. 

So she left them.

Mal always hoped she’d come back for them. For her.

(She didn’t.)

Today was one of the harder days. Mal called in sick from work, feeling teary eyed and croaky as she spoke to Jane on the phone. The younger girl told her to get some rest and drink some tea, even offering to stop by with soup a little later on. Mal had turned her down, but she knew Jane would be by anyway. The girl had always been far too caring.

The walk to the kitchen was rough. Mal wanted nothing more than to bury herself in her bed and stay there, unmoving. She’d done it before. Gone almost 48 hours without a real meal, without moving from the sanctuary of her room, feeling herself lose her mind trying to stay sane. Really, it was a vicious cycle. Today, however, her mind plagued her far more than it usually did when she was in bed. Her eyes, however dreary, kept picturing Evie dancing around the room. She always used to wake up before Mal. There had been several instances where Mal would stir while Evie was still in the room, dressed in nothing but a large t-shirt and a lazy Sunday morning smile. She’d sing as she’d get dressed, always a different tune, some Mal knew, some she didn’t. 

Every time she’d notice green eyes watching her, she’d laugh breathlessly and duck her head. Not embarrassed, though. Endeared.  _ Morning, grumpy,  _ she’d breathe, and Mal would always groan, until suddenly she was being peppered with kisses.  _ Breakfast in 20.  _

It felt too much like a ghost. Enough to get Mal out of bed. 

The kitchen was pristine, but mostly because it was rarely used. Evie had always been the chef, and Mal had always been content to watch. Dice carrots on a good day. Now, most of her meals were takeout, or brought to her by Jane. She didn’t go out so much.

She did, however, have an entire cupboard dedicated to teas. Green teas, black teas, teas with weird flavours, festive ones like cinnamon apple, or warm apple cider. Her go-to, however, was always orange pekoe with some honey and lemon. She pulled down the (near empty) box once she had opened the cupboard, and she tried to ignore the untouched packages of English Breakfast at the very back. That had been Evie’s favourite. The first few weeks after Evie had left, Mal had bought a box every time she went grocery shopping, not realizing she didn’t need to anymore. Now, they sat at the back of her cupboard, almost mocking her for not being able to throw them out.

Mal closed the cupboard a little more forcefully than necessary, and set some water to boil. 

Twenty minutes later, she was sitting on her kitchen floor, tea in her lap and wrapped in a blue sweater that had been Evie’s.

(Of course it was Evie’s.)

The blonde had pulled it from the bottom drawer of her dresser, the one that had all of Evie’s old candles and her pressed flowers. It still smelled vaguely of her perfume - peonies and something rosey and warm. Homely. It was the only item of clothing she had left behind; not counting the designs in the back room. Mal wore it more often than she’d like to admit, especially considering the fact that she had never washed it, too scared the faint smell still clinging to it would vanish completely. 

It felt like a hug, if she closed her eyes and pretended hard enough. It felt like meeting Evie at the airport after her two week trip to Paris. The brunette had abandoned her luggage and swept her into a bone crushing hug and Mal had cried, her own arms wrapping around Evie’s waist. They didn’t say anything for a while, just held each other in the middle of the airport mass, until finally Mal had breathed;  _ you still smell the same. _

Evie had laughed, and replied;  _ I’m never leaving you again. _

But their house was still empty, and Mal was still alone, with nothing more than a sweater for company.

She supposed it was rather sad that after six months, all it took for her to break again were four boxes of unopened English Breakfast tea, and the ghost of her ex singing in her bedroom.  _ Their  _ bedroom, once upon a time. Maybe that’s how it was meant to be. Maybe Mal was meant to have only half a heart for the rest of her life. Maybe she was always going to be the shell of her former self. Maybe she was always going to Evie’s, regardless of whether or not Evie was hers in return. If she believed in fate, she figured that would be it.

Evie believed in fate, in destiny. She had said they were soulmates. Fashioned from the same star. Mal had smiled at her when she had said it, finding that, in the moment at least, she believed the words. 

Evie always used to say things like that, things that made Mal feel special. She’d take her to parties and laugh and socialize and dance, and Mal would long to lurk in the corner - crowds were never really her thing, and she’d rather sulk than watch Evie banter with influencers as though they knew anything about each other. Evie never let her. She would always introduce Mal as her girlfriend, a bright, proud smile on her face as she pulled the blonde in closer. Mal didn’t mind the attention so much then. Even when she was coaxed into dancing - she was never much for dancing. It was different with Evie though. Everything seemed to be.

Mal wondered where Evie was right now, if she was sitting on her kitchen floor and sulking too. If she missed her. If she even thought of Mal at all anymore. Forgetting had always come as easy as breathing for the brunette. Mal wondered if two years in this apartment would be just as easy to erase as everything else had been. 

Maybe the worst part about it all was the company Mal kept. She still had the same friends, though she didn’t see them as often as she did when Evie would drag her out. Jay and Carlos still lived three blocks away, above a Chinese place that would give them free chicken balls if they had any left at the end of the day. Ben still worked as COO at his father’s company on East 33rd street. Jane was still the manager at the art cafe Mal worked at. Nothing about their lives had changed, nothing had crumbled down like they had for Mal. They had all been worried for her at first. She supposed maybe they still were, but really, she had no idea. They had all seemed to give up on her after she had refused their help, their company. Everyone except Jane, who she just couldn’t seem to shake. But still, she clung to these old ties. Not for the relationships, not for what  _ they  _ hoped she was clinging to. But because they still heard from Evie. They knew of her adventures in Paris, in Budapest, in Bertrix. They talked on the phone, exchanged old inside jokes, received worn polaroids in the mail.

That was how Mal kept up with Evie. Through the sad exchanges with the ghosts of the people that were her friends. Through the photos and postcards Jay had stuck to his widow. Through the public Instagram of some pretty brunette Evie had apparently met in France. Just snapshots of her life. She watched them the same way she used to watch Evie dance.

Mal drew the sweater closer to her body, her tea now cold in her hands. She hadn’t drank any of it. 

She hoped Evie was happy. 

Maybe she should call sometime, see if she’d answer. 

Maybe she still had her number saved under  _ Puff the Magic Dragon.  _

Maybe if she asked, Evie would come back. She wouldn’t probably but still, Mal hoped. 

Against reason, maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> @egrimhildes on twitter and @eviesgrimhilde on insta


End file.
